Urban Legend
by Canadino
Summary: ...where Jack wakes up in a bathtub of ice and apparently Simon is a whore? Jack/Simon, warning for language, sexual situations, and outrageousness.


**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

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Urban Legend

Jack Merridew's first thought upon awakening was a simple yet terrifying one: _oh my god, I've lost a kidney._

It was a logical explanation for why he was sitting, groggy and stiff-necked, in a bathroom he did not recognize filled to the brim with melting ice cubes. His entire back ached and he was feeling a little lightheaded. He looked around and frowned; well, whoever had attacked him last night did not leave him the common courtesy of a phone or a card that said _if you want to live, call 911 now._ He now had to get up, out of the bathroom, and into the room to reach the phone, and by then, he might have bled to death.

Wherever this bathroom was, it wasn't as tacky as he might have imagined it. The toilet was not falling apart. The tiles were a nice, calming light blue. The sink was not rusting. If he didn't know better, he might have thought he had just gotten wonderfully wasted and decided to take a cooling bath the night before in a hotel downtown. He could not imagine this place being in the district with the flashing neon red lights.

Jack made to get up and the ice shifted, sending a freezing stream of ice down his leg. He would have sworn, but the sound that came out of this mouth was more of a pathetic growl-whine.

"Ah, you're awake then." Jack looked up at the voice. In the doorway of the not-sketchy bathroom was a petite figure in a low-cut shirt and short shorts. Jack figured this was a young man by the lack of chest and tried to give his best glare – the best, while sitting in an icy tube, at least. The young man raised an eyebrow, a fresh cigarette dangling from his pink lips.

"I take it you arranged this lovely accommodation, eh?" Jack asked sarcastically. He did not want to move. The ice was cooling various parts of him that he did not care to be cooled. Perhaps if he threw barbs, this kidney thief would relent and perform surgery on him again.

The boy shrugged, balancing the cigarette between thin fingers and blowing a puff of smoke into the bathroom. "It couldn't be helped," he said, shrugging and leaning on the doorway. The way he angled his hips and let the collar of his shirt slide down his shoulder made Jack certain he had picked this creature of the night up as a mistake. Was he drunk? He must have been; his head was _pounding_.

"Which street corner did I pick you up from?" Jack ventured, trying to ease him away from the ice. Another ice cold stream crept down his side and he hissed.

"Excuse you," the currently nameless young man said, getting testy. He did not explain himself and merely turned and disappeared from the doorway. Jack decided to siphon the ice out as fast as he could before any more melted. Leaving the liquefying cubes on the tile floor, he managed to dig himself out and stood, stretching his tense muscles and trying to regain feeling. Staring at his stomach, he tried to pinpoint where the incisions were. The slut must have been trained in medical school; he probably wouldn't have any scars.

Before he could look up, a fluffy white towel soared through the air and hit him square in the stomach, and Jack saved it before it became drenched in the freezing pools at his feet in the tub. "Cover yourself up. You're a mess," the boy said, the cigarette still in his mouth.

"I thought hotels had a no smoking policy since that new environmental law," Jack muttered, wrapping the towel around his waist and picking himself out of the tub. He nearly fell flat on his face as he stepped on an ice cube. The boy let out a dry laugh.

"Would I technically be illegal too, seeing as I'm apparently a hooker?" the boy retorted.

"Well, are you?" Jack shot back, pretending he had not failed at walking. The boy stared at him for a moment. Jack thought vaguely the cigarette looked out of place on his face. He looked like a teenager trying to be posh and sophisticated.

"I guess I am," the boy said after a while, before walking away from the door. Jack stumbled after him, blinking in and taking his surroundings in for a moment. This was not a motel; it was a _hotel_. He could make out buildings outside the curtained window, and they were not seedy shops or gaudy motel signs. Wherever he was, it was a place where neatly laundered bed sheets and flat screen televisions lived. For a moment he was sidetracked; then he remembered the big issue.

"Where's my kidney?"

The hooker boy looked at him. "I ate it," he said with a straight face. "It was delicious with a pinch of salt."

"I'm pretty sure that line involved a liver," Jack said, glossing over the detail. "But seriously. Where is it? I kind of need that thing."

"It's in your body, you fruit. What would I need with your liver? I'm not that badly off." A bit of ash fell off the end of the cigarette and landed on the floor. Jack suppressed an urge to pick it up. "You don't remember anything, do you."

"Well, I was drunk off my mind to pick up a whore off the street," Jack grumbled, noticing his clothes on the ground and collecting them, shaking them to make sure they weren't dirty. "I don't think last night was a blast for me." He paused in the middle of reaching for his sweater. "Unless…" Straightening up quickly, he pointed an accusing finger at the dark-haired hooker. "Did we…?"

"No," the hooker said, rolling his eyes. "In my defense, you _wanted_ to. Do you want me to tell you every gory detail? I don't care if you don't, because you're taking responsibility anyway. Yesterday you stumbled out of one of the bars and got it into your buzzed-up brain that you might not even have that because I was standing on the sidewalk waiting for my ride to come, I was free and willing so you dragged me over here and tried to solicit me for sex and promptly passed out. You were sort of hot, and not in the attractive sense, so I figured you had a fever so I stripped you and left you in the tub with ice." The boy took the cigarette out of his mouth and ground it in the ashtray on the table. "So really, it's _your_ fault."

Jack willed his composure to stay strong. "So you're _not_ a whore?"

"I was an innocent bystander until last night, where I became one. Okay? I considered it briefly but I got a job so I wouldn't have to sell my body." The boy gave Jack a pointed look. "But thank you for thinking I was that easy." He sat on the bed and watched Jack.

"Why are you dressed like that, then?" Jack asked, defensively, quickly pulling on his underwear and pants.

"I was out having a good time last night! I'm pretty sure you were too, before you had one drink too many!"

"Why did you come with me?"

"Because you're good-looking, you bastard! Do I have to spell everything out for you?" The boy crossed his arms. "Before you claim you forgot, my name is Simon Green, and I expect you to take me out to breakfast and compensate me for wasting my entire night yesterday! I don't care if you're the president or boss or whatever of any company because I can file charges on you!"

"You're a flamer?" Jack asked, coming short of any other means of moving the conversation on. Internally, he was dying a mortified death. He had come on to a total stranger and called him a prostitute! He couldn't show his face to the world. He could not go home to his mother; in fact, he had to drop the name Merridew and adopt something like _Shame _or _Jerk_.

"I hardly think you can call me that when you asked me if you could show me a good time," Simon ground out. "I considered getting my friend Ralph to take care of you but," he cut himself off without any hesitation and plummeted on, "I thought my luck was just taking a dive up because you seemed my type and a lot of ugly guys like to go to the places I frequent." Jack waited for him to stop and say _psych! Just kidding_ but it never came. "Don't give me that disgusting stupid look. I was very displeased with your performance last night. I won't pay you at all."

Jack was about to make a comeback but thought better.

"I'm not a fan of hotel food, so you'd better know a place to go. I checked your wallet and you have enough to treat me. I don't like my eggs runny and the bacon has to be slightly burnt." Simon scratched the back of his head in feigned nonchalance. "My daddy isn't the chief of police or anything."

"Look, kid." Jack sighed, but it came out more of a scream. "You're not cute at all. My life does not need this sort of thing to happen. We can go out for breakfast and then part and never see each other again, forget it all happened. Okay? Okay."

"Are you deaf?" Simon shouted, making the hangover even worse. Jack cringed. "I told you you were good-looking! Doesn't my opinion count for anything!"

"What are you trying to say?" Jack yelled back.

"We didn't have a very good start!"

"What can I say?" Jack asked, throwing his arms in the air. "I wasn't expecting this either!"

"You're single," Simon scowled. "You barely have any girls in your phonebook, you don't have any cute pictures in your wallet, and you were well dressed and hit on me, so you're not taken. Stop being whiny and just take me out already!"

"You're a pushy skank," Jack said, before giving up. "Is this how you get dates? You just wear them down until they give in? Because you're very good at it." Simon gave him a snarky, triumphant grin.

"So you got a place for us to go yet or what?

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Note: If you want to punch me, go ahead. Obviously I am shameless for writing this and I deserve it for making Simon so outrageously OOC. I enjoyed it and I am not ashamed about that. So what. Ke$ha did not influence this in any way or anything. God. I might even illustrate this horror. I applaud you for making it through to the author notes.


End file.
